


Teaching Old Elves

by laEsmeralda



Series: Linnod [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5819239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laEsmeralda/pseuds/laEsmeralda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo truly surprises an experienced lover. This triad of scenes takes place after the war, before Frodo leaves Middle Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teaching Old Elves

Down, down, he fell into the depths of rapture. The ends of his fingers, his slender toes, and every tiny hair on his body hummed, and when he came, he felt as though hot sunlight burst from each of them. In some barely functioning part of his mind, he wondered how Frodo’s fingers could be so many places and do so many things at once.

He panted for minutes after, attempting to recover his breath, silently naming his wicked torturers as they drew away. 

First, Mouth left him, and he actually heard himself whimper. 

Then, Left Thumb slipped from the crease between his thigh and still pounding hardness as Left Middle Finger withdrew from inside him, and he shuddered. Despite practice over the years, he had never enjoyed any form of penetration until Frodo touched him in his particular way. 

Last, Right Hand released three pressure points across the small of his back, which he had not known existed. 

Lying still and spent, strangely absent from his body, he kept his eyes closed and listened to the sound of Frodo’s fingertips sliding over his skin in a whisper of love. 

After a time, he felt and smelled a towel--wet with rosemary-scented water still warm from the copper kettle--being smoothed over his skin, leaving a cooling wake. Pulled back to his body in this way, still he could not bring himself to move or speak. 

Frodo thoroughly wiped his lover and then his own hands, smiling at the wanton destruction before him. He pulled a blanket over this fantastic creature he had captured against so many odds, and went happily to make tea. Apparently, even old elves with worldly knowledge still had things to learn. And to quell his own greed, he applied patience hard learned on the quest, holding the release of his own pleasure for later. 

*******

After swimming in a stream chilled with spring melt, Legolas emerged and shook himself in uncharacteristic abandon, throwing water droplets from his hair in all directions. In the slant of late afternoon sun, he could see Sam chasing Rosie across the field past Bag End as though she were a colorful butterfly. They laughed and waved to him. 

These halflings were a surprise in so many ways, so easily underestimated by the hasty and unobservant. Even with his knowledge of them, gained over the miles and tribulations they had shared, he was shocked at Frodo’s talent as a lover--the most innovative lover he had ever enjoyed. He sat and dried his hair, contemplating how he could possibly return in kind the favor bestowed upon him earlier.  
*******

In the dark of that night, Legolas awoke and watched Frodo sleeping beside him. His sharp vision took in eyelashes brushing velvety cheeks as Frodo's eyelids flickered in dream. Slight shoulders hunched under the sheets against chill air. 

In his slow perusal, he saw that the hand that rested near Frodo's soft mouth still bore discoloration from Gollum's bite months earlier. Legolas knew that Frodo yet felt the missing finger. He tenderly kissed the bruise and Frodo did not stir from his deep sleep. Legolas remembered back to a night in Lothlórien, and smiled with mischief. 

Frodo dreamt he was riding his pony, Strider, through a deep and unfamiliar forest. The trees pressed in around him and shafts of golden light pierced the twilight in places, like pillars to the unseen sky. But for Strider, who nickered in displeasure, he was alone. He felt a surrounding presence that he could not identify, as if a spirit followed him. The smell of the place was familiar, the scent of young trees and heather, fresh and warm. But the feel of it was ominous. Gandalf's description of the wilds of Mirkwood came to mind, Mirkwood before the great evil had waned, and he knew he should not be here alone. His heart began to pound, and his skin prickled. He pushed on, looking for a way out. 

As the pony responded and rocked in faster steps, Frodo felt the saddle chafing him in a strange way. Despite his apprehension, he was suddenly hard--very hard. His hips shifted reflexively into the leather and cloth. The answering throb was shocking, and he nearly came. This frightened him even more. A ride alone through a dangerous forest was not an erotic event. He had always found saddles uncomfortable, not stimulating. He gathered the reins and urged the pony faster toward the growing light at what he hoped was the edge of the forest. 

At the canter, the saddle skirt began to press him from behind as well. He moaned, not knowing whether from fear, confusion, or pleasure. His trousers were now slick on the inside, and the rough wetness pulled at him insistently. The trees were opening up at last, and he could see a meadow beyond. He nudged Strider to a gallop.

A whispered voice encouraged him, though he could not understand it clearly. Suddenly, he felt the air leave his brain and he grabbed for Strider's mane as orgasm bolted through him. He shut his eyes and would have fallen, but a strong hand steadied him, and Frodo heard soft moans and a little choking noise that made him open his eyes again.

Frodo's addled mind saw his own bedroom as an alien place for a moment. To go from afternoon sun to midnight was startling enough, but that was not all. Tremors still shot through him and he shuddered. He saw his own hand before him, wrapped tightly in a handful of silver hair, and at long last, he realized he was clutching Legolas to him. The elf's tongue was busy soothing him as he quieted, fingers sliding back and forth through the cleft behind, creating delicious aftershocks.

"Legolas! You scared me to death!" Frodo's voice was ragged, and he knew then that he had shouted in his sleep. 

The elf withdrew his mouth and murmured in reply. "Not to death, Love, to pleasure." He chuckled quietly. "Pleasure so great I almost could not take what you had to give." His lips returned briefly to caress the length of Frodo's hardness. 

Frodo loosened his grip on the silky hair and caressed the ear underneath. "I am sorry, I hope I did not hurt you."

"Not at all, though it was a wild ride."

"It was so strange," Frodo mused, "how did you make me dream of the eerie forest and... the pony?"

"You were already dreaming of them and I intruded. Your mind did the rest, trying to make sense of the combination."

Frodo sighed deeply. "Your smell. I should have known that forest had your smell." He continued to stroke the curved ear, causing Legolas to tremble. "They renamed named it after you, didn't they?" 

Legolas laughed then. "I do not think it was for me, Dearest."

"Why did you not wake me?"

"Remember when you came to me that night in Lórien these several years ago? Tonight, when I saw you were dreaming, I suddenly felt it was time I... repaid you," Legolas said in a gently sardonic tone. 

Frodo was quiet for a minute, remembering. "Yes, but that night, you awoke and learned it was me before things went too far." 

Legolas grinned, for Frodo was positively petulant. "I was vigilant on the quest and did not sleep so deeply. Furthermore, I clearly recall you telling me that you hoped to take me in my sleep, without waking me."

"Hmmm, yes, now I do remember." Frodo stretched a little. He was coming back to himself at last. "I also recall that you were wide awake for what happened after, and had much to sing." He slid across the sheets, reaching to take Legolas' hips in both hands, turning him on his side. Ever so slowly, he slipped his mouth over the glistening, rounded end of his shaft. The answering moan was long and gratifying, and he felt himself tightening again. Boldly, he nudged Legolas' lips, and was welcomed back inside with no hesitation.  
*******

Toward the end of Legolas' visit, Frodo took him to a place in the nearby wood of which few hobbits knew, where travelers did not pass, for the surrounding trees were thick and twisted, with no suggestion of what they protected. Passing the labyrinth of roots and scratching branches, they were rewarded at last with a lovely clearing, flush with violets and dappled with spring sunshine, the trees tall and close around. A brook passed through as well, adding its music to the birds and breeze in the leaves.

"This is a grand place to rest. What have you in mind, Love?" asked Legolas, reaching out to caress Frodo's hair, knowing full well the hobbit's intent. 

Frodo unbuckled a blanket from Strider's saddle. "Your pleasure, always that," he replied, smiling. "I must make the most of the times you are here with me." He spread the blanket and pulled a small pack down as well. 

He looked up then at his lover, sun burning on the elf's hair like a corona. "Take off your clothes," he said boldly, then with a grin, "please." 

One corner of Legolas' mouth hitched up. "No picnic feasting then, but something else?" He stepped back several paces and began to comply. Methodically, he removed bow and quiver, knives, boots, tunic. He paused there and glanced up. 

Frodo stood leaning back against Strider's shoulder as the pony grazed. His already beautiful face was transfixed with desire, making it achingly lovely. "Oh, there will be feasting," Frodo replied. He adored taking off Legolas' clothing, but he enjoyed seeing it done more. The elf's particular combination of smooth beauty and male carriage were best appreciated in his movement rather than stillness.

Legolas untied the sleeves and neck of his shirt, taking his time, then left the shirt on and unlaced his leggings. This required him to tuck the shirt to one side to work the lower lacings.

Frodo licked his lips. "You are torturing me."

"Did you not wish it?"

"Mmm, yes." 

The loosened neck of Legolas' shirt slipped over one shoulder, and sun glinted off the impossibly white skin. He took the hem and lifted the shirt over his head, flexing his stomach and letting his hair slide back in a silvery spill. Then, he stood perfectly still, wearing just his half-unlaced leggings. He regarded Frodo for further instructions.

"I meant all of your clothing, but never mind, I find I would rather do the last myself." Frodo said in a warming voice. "You are so lean, with such muscle beneath your skin, I would think you should be hungry all the time, " he remarked, "but you are not bony at all, but smooth, hard, and curved at once, velvety to my touch." 

Legolas flushed with the realization that the description, spoken with Frodo's words, sounded delicious to his own ears. Nevertheless, he held Frodo's gaze.

Frodo continued unabashed. "I have released myself many times these weeks with just looking upon you." He toyed with the fabric of his trousers, teasing himself underneath. "And if you continue to look at me that way, Legolas, I will not last."

"Then, stop touching yourself, Master Baggins, for I cannot stop what is in my eyes. You have learned to be patient of late, why so hasty today?"

Frodo sighed. "I have been simmering all morning while I prepared to bring you here. And you have been close the whole time, your perfume teasing me. I have been restraining myself for hours already."

"Perhaps you need a different approach. This clearing is so full of your moonflower essence that I am dizzy with it. Let yourself go now, and then recover for later. I will help you," Legolas said, full of mischief. 

"Which way will you help me?" Frodo inquired, losing his voice a little at the prospect.

"Why in both ways, of course." Legolas replied, grinning. He slowly rolled the leggings down over his hips, and then stopped, the fabric riding low, but still covering what most held Frodo's interest. His hands slid up his own torso, making all the downy hairs prick up, and swooped back down, dipping just barely under the lacings. Frodo's intake of breath then was audible. Legolas continued to keep his eyes locked to Frodo's, and spoke to him in a low voice full of endearments, a combination he knew the drove the hobbit to distraction. "Why not open your trousers, my beauty, lest we ruin them."

Without further hesitation, Frodo nimbly unbuttoned and kicked his trousers away. Then, he did something that shocked even Legolas. He raised his shirt, took the shirt tail in his teeth and braced his back against the pony. 

At the sight of Frodo this unrestrained in desire, Legolas had to hold himself from making three long steps over to take matters into his own hands.

Frodo was rough with himself in urgency, and before long, sent streamers of fluid far out into the grass, groaning through clenched teeth and homespun. The patient pony continued to graze and took the extra weight without even shifting. Frodo shut his eyes and panted back to steady breath. At last, he dropped the fabric from his mouth and moved to stand on his own.

"There now," Legolas breathed, "you are ready to do your worst to me at your leisure." He stood easy, waiting, although he was now hard and aching for Frodo's touch. It was not long in coming. Frodo walked to him slowly, his eyes locked to where the leggings strained despite having been loosened. Legolas' breath quickened as Frodo knelt and put his hands over him, touching so softly, fingers fluttering.

"My, my, who suffers now?" Frodo asked in a mischievous voice. "Do not think I will release you so quickly." He slipped a hand between the long thighs, pressing just a little, tracing the fullness downward and back, stopping to cup it, then running one finger further back along the seam of the leggings until his palm was snug against Legolas' rump. He pressed his nose to the lacings. This elicited a groan from the elf.

"Where have you learned such wicked enticements?"

"I read a great deal. Have you not noticed?" He brushed his nose back and forth, sending shivers upward. His hands moved to urge the leggings down in back, caressing Legolas' backside as he went. Then, he pulled them out a bit in front before drawing them down, so as not to uncomfortably snag what pulsed beneath. 

Frodo wanted so badly to put that thick hardness in his mouth straight away, to feel it with his circling tongue. He hovered for a moment, sorely tempted, then moved on, sliding the leggings down taut thighs and calves, drawing them off at last. 

His hands smoothed back up over the muscular legs and shaft, scooping a bright drop of moisture on the way. Frodo finally stood again to continue his fingertip caress over flat stomach to chest, as far as he could reach, provoking Legolas' already sensitive skin to shudder. His feathery touch evoked wonderful noises as he went, moans and growls and mewlings. Frodo leaned forward slowly, slowly, and pressed his lips to Legolas' nipple at the same time that he reached to firmly grip the hardness below with both hands. The effect was electric, and Legolas suddenly slid to his knees, causing Frodo to lose his grasp. 

The elf was frantic to find Frodo's mouth. His kiss, when they connected, resonated in Frodo's core. Legolas' hands were suddenly everywhere it seemed. Frodo succeeded in capturing a forearm and broke his mouth away.

"Shhh, shhh, Legolas, be still. I have devised something special for you today, do not cause me to forget my purpose."

"It is special enough already, Frodo," Legolas murmured, "I think I cannot bear more."

Frodo laughed, delighted. "My ancient lover, have you not taught me to hold back for higher pleasure? I know you can bear much more. At any rate, we shall see." He extracted himself and went to his pack, rummaging around, pulling out towels, flasks, and of all things, a jar of tea. First, he poured a cup for Legolas. "Drink this, it will not still your wanting, but it will help your control."

"I have never had difficulty with control," said Legolas indignantly, sitting back on his heels, but he dutifully took the cup and drank.

"Yes, but you always hold to some level of consciousness to stave off the ending, and I wish for you to relinquish even that today. This is not a meditation, but wildness. This afternoon, we are like the other animals." 

"You cannot be like the other animals if you are still clothed." Legolas caught him by the shirt tail and whisked the garment off him, tearing it a little.

"Have a care, Legolas," Frodo teased, "were you not so worried I would ruin my clothing?" He looked in the glowing eyes and decided to pour himself a cup of the tea. 

"Your prowess has humbled me of late," Legolas said softly, "I have had many lovers, some fumbling, some of exquisite skill, but never any as creative as you in finding what I need. You are an artist of love. I fear I cannot give in kind."

Frodo melded himself to Legolas' back, moving the long hair aside and stroking his cheek against one shoulder. "I only follow your body as it calls me, and your soul that your skin cannot seem to contain guides me in your secret ways." 

Legolas closed his eyes and wondered at the absolute surrender he felt. 

Frodo continued, "Do not doubt for a moment how fully you satisfy me. At first, I thought you would kill me with pleasure, and as much as I wanted you, I could hardly bear to have you touch me. Then I grew accustomed to being on that edge of bearing. Even though you did not feel for me as I did for you, you devoted yourself to my pleasure. Since you have come to truly love me--beyond friend or lover--even your touch has changed. It has become perfection to my heart." 

He kissed the back of Legolas' neck, caressing the skin with his tongue, and caught a soft earlobe in his teeth. "Now lie down on your back, please." He took the cup and set it aside as Legolas reclined. "I wish you to feel what I feel in your embraces."

Legolas tucked one arm behind his head and watched Frodo reach for a glass flask filled with a golden substance. It looked not like honey, nor oil, nor liquor, but something altogether different, and it sparkled in the sun. He quirked an eyebrow at Frodo.

"One thing you cannot imagine is the effect of your smell upon me when we touch." Frodo rolled the flask between his palms, gently warming the contents.

"What of your scent--that secret change that happens, it seems, for me alone?" Legolas replied with some effort as his voice was suddenly sticking in his throat, "The sweet moonflower that tells me you are in need?"

"Well, I cannot equate them, for your perfume is complex and exquisite, and it shifts in your emotions. It is not like any one thing alone." Frodo carefully removed the seal and stopper from the flask. "And it intoxicates me always, not just in passion. I want you to understand what that is like." He spilled just a little of the liquid onto Legolas' stomach, and the scent rushed over them both. 

To Frodo, it was one of the more lovely things he had ever smelled, but Legolas was so struck that he cried out, his body arching up off the blanket, his hands involuntarily drawn to the liquid. He tried to speak, but no words would come. Frodo carefully closed the flask and set it aside. He touched the wet skin and spread the substance upward over Legolas' breastbone, throat, chin, and lips. It did not dry quickly like water, and was heavy and smooth, not sticky. Frodo was a little frightened at the strength of the elf's reaction, but he had been warned and reassured, so he went on with it. 

Legolas' eyes were open and bright blue, staring blindly up into the sky. He groaned, a raw sound of ecstasy barely contained, and Frodo was immediately aroused again.

"You are safe," Frodo soothed, "this is no drug or magic potion." He swept his hand down, wetting it again, and continued further, to grasp the hardness that trembled for him. Legolas cried out again. The harmony of song was already building in his voice, although he yet had no words. 

The pristine skin had flushed, and where Frodo now touched him he had gone dark with the fullness of blood. Frodo shifted to sit by Legolas' hips, and pulled the long legs across his lap, pressing his own hardness between a muscular flank and his own belly. He reached for the flask to spill another few drops into his hand. Slick now, it slipped between the elf's legs, and a finger smoothly entered Legolas, reaching for that place only Frodo knew how to touch. 

Legolas immediately came, and though shocked, Frodo kept his wits and pressed on him both inside and out, preventing any fluid from escaping. He knew this must be done carefully, and careful he was. Even so, he worried that Legolas might hurt himself with the force of his response. 

The sight and sound and feel of his lover nearly had him over the edge again. Legolas never rushed to orgasm even when Frodo would have it so. His lovemaking, though rough and fast at times, always had a careful and measured cadence to it. That now innate result of long practice was utterly gone in this moment, and Frodo was overjoyed.

"Breathe, beautiful one, breathe for me," Frodo said. As soon as the first waves had subsided, he began again with both hands to keep Legolas hard, stroking gently, building a steady rhythm. He leaned forward, and added his mouth, not sucking, just enjoying with his lips and tongue.

"Frodo." The whisper was ragged.

"Mmm?" 

"Please." A limp hand fell on Frodo's leg.

He paused. "What is it?"

"Do what you will without fear," Legolas said with great effort, "you will not hurt me."

"You are the sustenance of my soul," Frodo replied, smiling, "and I am a greedy hobbit, remember? I might devour you and leave your bones to bleach in the sun." He slipped another finger in to emphasize his words. "This time will be fast as well, and harder. Do you wish it?" 

"Yes. Please, yes. Soon. Now," tears welled in Legolas' eyes, something Frodo had never seen, and it shook him. But Legolas managed a weak smile to reassure him. "I am sorry I cannot seem to move to touch you as well. I want your lips so badly."

"I do not want you to move, my bright light, only to feel." Without releasing either hand from its activity, he slid out from under the elf's legs and straddled him, slipping his own shaft into his grasp along with Legolas. He paused for a few breaths then, struggling for control himself. "If I am not careful, we will be finished too soon," he whispered. 

Gently, he began to move, using his hand to vary the tightness of pressure between them. He listened attentively to the building, wordless melody. Apparently, even elvish was not capable of articulating the experience. Wriggling the two fingers inside seemed to quicken the pace, though he broke out in a sweat maintaining the awkward position. 

Legolas pushed back against him, and he answered harder, all gentleness transformed into the quest for pleasure. Frodo bit his lip, tasting the copper of blood, to keep himself back for just another minute. His sweat mingled with the spilled scent, and with the wet of arousal from both of them, magnifying each movement. 

Before he even heard the change in Legolas' voice, Frodo felt the strong pulse of release inside the elf. Astonished, Frodo felt a hot stream whip against his cheek, then another against the underside of his chin. He laughed out loud with delight and flexed all his fingers to see what would happen. A third, particularly forceful stream, missed him altogether. In laughing, he lost count.

Time slowed strangely for Frodo, and he saw the little dark spots form slowly before his eyes, felt the prickle across his face, and sensed the pressure in the small of his back and belly, all with time to think on them before the orgasm rocked him out of his senses. He reached out past his body and felt as though he cast himself into Legolas' soul, and everything went light instead of dark.

When Frodo could open his eyes, the low hum of the afternoon began to penetrate his hearing. He could hear Strider pulling grass, the brook gurgling, and cicadas buzzing. Frodo blinked at the bright sky overhead. Then, another sound brought him back fully to reality, and he sat up so abruptly that he grew dizzy. Legolas was curled against him, his shoulders shuddering as he muffled the sound of tears against an arm.

Frodo threw himself on the elf, hugging him tightly. "Legolas, what is amiss?" His heart pounded harder as no response came for long minutes, save for more tears running over the aquiline nose, dripping onto the blanket. "Speak to me or I cannot help." 

Legolas' chest heaved as he finally tried to speak. "You are so... so... I cannot..."

"I did not mean to hurt you, please forgive me."

"Forgive you?" Legolas said brokenly at last, wiping his eyes with a wrist and beginning to laugh, "You read me wrongly, Frodo." He gripped the hobbit by his shoulders and kissed him ardently over and over, still laughing, his eyes still streaming. "I will not be able to speak this with the reverence that is due you." He tried to settle himself and looked squarely in Frodo's eyes. "No lover has ever brought me to the release of tears before. Not in all my centuries. I did not think it possible for me."

Frodo smiled back in wonder, the realization dawning, "Then it was good? I was suddenly so frightened!" He covered his eyes and exclaimed as he drew back a hand wet with Legolas' passion. Then, he began to laugh too. "We have made a mess of me, I am covered with you." He reached for a towel and waterskin.

Legolas at last rolled to his back, flinging his arms wide. He grinned up at the sky.

"Amazing hobbit, you must now tell me about your flask."

"What did it seem like to you?" Frodo asked, curious.

Legolas searched for an adequate description. "It was as though I were at once in my favorite places in all the forests I have visited, feeling all that I had felt in each--including my few remarkable nights in Lothlórien with Aragorn, and with you. But there were unfamiliar notes as well. And I suddenly sensed that the trees shared these experiences with me." He shook his head in frustration. "I am not doing it justice with words."

"No, your response did it justice." 

Legolas took his chin and turned him to look in his eyes. "After the first shock of the perfume passed, my response was to you. You do understand that?"

"I have never seen you with me like you were in that first moment of scent. It took you straight out of your thinking mind." Frodo reverently stroked the flask. "This is rare, and I went to great lengths to find it. Fortunately, I have close ties with the ent world."

"Merry and Pippin?"

"The very same."

"Did they know what you wanted it for?"

"I did not say, but there was a fair amount of elbowing when they handed it over, so I imagine they had some idea."

"What is it--apart from simply glorious?"

"It is distilled from the sap, willingly given, of young trees in full green throughout Middle Earth. The ents keep the old stores with great care, and harvest the new each change of seasons. As whim dictates, they combine the essences, like master perfumers. I am told that this powerful mixture contains forests long burned or faded, along with the saplings of last year. Your home is in there as well."

"What made you seek it?" Legolas asked in wonderment, "why did you think of it for me?"

Frodo blushed. " I spent a long time thinking about you as Sam and I traveled alone. To me, you smell a great deal of the forest, though there are other wonderful things mingled in your perfume. I wished I could smell to you as you do to me, so powerful and moving."

"Love, you are powerful and moving. You must realize that I worship you for your own ways."

Frodo smiled at the tender words. "In watching you, I learned that you have a special place in your heart for tending the trees. You would touch and speak to them as friends, and sometimes, walking in a particularly beautiful wood full of young ones, your eyes would change a little. Like they do in passion, but just a little."

"I never noticed, and no one else has ever taken notice until now." Legolas was touched.

"I remembered that night in Lórien when I intruded upon you and Aragorn, how quickly I lost control. I realized at last that the tree itself communicated some of your passion to me, including your sense of Aragorn's touch."

Legolas gasped. "How is it possible that you have discovered something the woodland elves have never realized?"

"It must be so natural, so much a part of your beings, that you do not notice. Or, perhaps they are not all so linked to the trees as you and that effect is special to you."

"But the draught, how did you discover it?" 

"Back in Ithilien, I asked Gandalf if there was any way to magically capture the smell of a particular forest place. You and I had not been together in a long time and I thought we would not be again, I had it in my mind to give you a parting gift that you could carry that would prevent you from ever forgetting me."

Legolas chuckled. "I was never in danger of forgetting you! Well, what did Gandalf think of this odd request?"

"He is no fool, that one. He gave me that wizened smile that speaks of mischief. _Frodo,_ he said, _if such a thing might exist, and if a hobbit were to acquire it, what might he wish to do with it? _"__

Legolas laughed at Frodo's imitation of Gandalf, which was rather good.

"I told him it was meant as a gift for you, in special thanks for your protection. _Ah,_ he considered, _then if found, it must be given with special care. To expose an elf to it, particularly a wood elf, like Legolas, for example, would have a powerful effect indeed._ I asked what sort of effect to expect. He explained the general uses and cautions of the draught. It is used by ents and wizards to call a grieving being back from the brink of death. When hope and will to live is gone, the scent of such overwhelming life can nearly raise the dead."

"No matter how long a life, there is always more to learn," said Legolas, "it is a great joy. Go on."

"Then, Gandalf said that he did not think it had never been used before to enhance passion. I was flustered to death, and I told him the truth, that I meant only to give you the gift when we parted. Do you know what he said to me?"

"Tell me."

" _Pity, Frodo, pity,_ and clucked his tongue, going back to his book and pipe with that sly smile! So in the end, you may blame Gandalf for putting the idea in my head. Then, it was a matter of locating and acquiring."

"It is extraordinary," he shook his head in wonder. "But I shall return to my earlier thought. When the shock of that first taste of scent faded, it was you who took me, as you put it, back out of my thinking mind. Perhaps the perfume opened me to the experience but you took me there. As you said, it is not a drug." Legolas rolled over, pinning Frodo beneath him. "Who would have imagined it would be a hobbit from the peaceful Shire to bring me to the most treasured passion of my people?" 

Frodo lifted his head just enough for a brush of a kiss. "I am so glad to have you share it with me." He was serious for a moment so that Legolas would know the depth of his respect. But in the end, his hobbity sense of humor prevailed. "There is the matter of that useless tea, however, I must speak to the apothecary and have her credit my account."

Legolas nuzzled him back and laughed. "Perhaps it did work. Imagine if we had none of it how quickly we might have spent ourselves."

"Could it have been faster?" Frodo countered in delight. "I did wish to test your limits. Perhaps I should try again."

"So you have, and no, I am not ready! Frodo, this will sound strange to you, but do you not have the urge to share your talents with others? I have had very good teachers indeed in the arts of the body and spirit, and I think that even old elves could learn from you. What a gift it would be for them to take to the Undying Lands. For that matter, what a boon it would be to the tired humans and all the others who remain here to rebuild the world."

"You are in earnest." Frodo looked at him soberly.

"Indeed."

"You would share me?"

"As you share me," Legolas gently reminded him, "would I not be wrong to ask you to hold only to me?"

Frodo sighed and smiled. "It is a fine thought in the ideal, but another would not look at me as you do, or touch me as you do. I would rather go without such in your absence than have lesser pleasure of it."

Legolas caressed his cheek. "It would not be lesser with the right sort, just different, with something new to learn or teach. And know that to share you does not mean that I love you less."

"It may be that I would not have this talent, as you call it, with another," Frodo grinned back at him. "At present, there is no room for others, even for sport. My heart is filled with you. But I promise to remain open to the possibility, if the right sort stumbles into the Shire." Frodo drew him down for a deep kiss though they were both sated. 

"At the very least," Legolas murmured against his lips, "you have surpassed the available literature and should undertake to write a book," he laughed low in his chest, "though I would venture to say that our scribes would have difficulty completing the work of copying it in any timely manner."

The sound of their laughter blended with the sounds of the forest and for a time the future was held at bay.  
*******


End file.
